An Ale Between Two Strangers
by Lossefalme
Summary: KOTOR 2: Baggage Challenge Entry. Atton finds he's not the only one still carrying the past, still looking for answers....


**Author's Note:** This is my entry for the October Writer's Challenge "Baggage" on Trillian's Challenge Forum. You can find the link to the Forum and other challenge entries on my profile. Please go check out all the other stories and PM Rian Sage to cast your vote for your favorite! If you're confused, follow the link on my profile, then just read the first forum post for directions! Thanks, and hope you enjoy!

* * *

**An Ale Between Two Strangers**

Atton Rand slid onto the bar stool, rapping the scuffed and grimy countertop with his knuckles to catch the barman's attention. The burly humanoid turned at the noise, lifting one eyebrow silently, and Atton replied by pointing just as wordlessly to his drink selection. The barman poured the glowing green ale sloppily into a tall, heavy glass, and set it down solidly under Atton's nose.

"Twelve credits," the humanoid grunted.

Atton's mouth fell open. "Twelve credits for an ale?"

The barman began to pull the glass away.

"Hey, wait – fine, fine. Here." Atton slapped the credits on the bar top and grabbed the beverage with a scowl. The barman took the money and went back to his other customers. Atton rolled his eyes, then sighed and turned his attention to the other patrons of the cantina.

His already dark mood darkened even farther as he noticed the obvious lack of pretty girls. _Great_, he thought glumly. _Seedy location, expensive drinks, and supreme lack of good-looking women. Why the hell am I here again?_

_Oh yes, that's right,_ he answered himself sardonically,_ because some wrinkled, kooky old blind woman ordered me to stay close to the ship. Otherwise I'd be down at the _Gate Nine _by now, enjoying myself, chatting with a classy broad…._

He took a sip of the ale, then grimaced at the gritty taste. _Bad quality expensive drinks_, he added to his previous judgment. _Well, guess I'd better make the best of my time here. Only…_, he checked the flickering chrono display on the far wall, _an hour left to wait before Nell, Kreia, and Bao-Dur get back. Wonderful._

For a moment he was very tempted to leave such a dump and head down to the _Gate Nine_ despite Kreia's orders. She had no real authority over him, after all. But then he remembered the way she had forced herself into his mind, and the punishment she had promised if he did not do as she told him. He had felt the darkness within her while she had been violating his thoughts, and he had no doubt she would deliver on her promises, however terrible they were.

He shifted uncomfortably on the bar stool. She would know if he strayed too far from the _Ebon Hawk_. She would know if he lied to her. He had no choice but to remain here and suffer through the next hour, however boring it might be. He wished Bao-Dur would have been the one to stay behind… but… such was his luck these days.

Atton took a deep breath and gulped down half his glass, slamming it back to the bar top with a shudder. _Wow. That's _really_ bad. Might as well get drunk then_. He picked up the glass again eagerly and swallowed down the rest of the ale, then signaled for a second, putting his next twelve credits on the counter. The barman came back at once, tossing Atton only the most subtle of skeptical glances. But the credits disappeared, a full glass appeared, and Atton settled in for an hour of heavy drinking.

But as he was choking down his second twelve-credits-worth-of-bad-quality-ale, he noticed the person sitting next to him watching him. He paused in lifting the glass to his lips and met the man's eyes, raising his eyebrows in question.

The stranger quickly looked away, back to his own steaming red drink, but Atton wasn't going to let him off the hook so easily. A swift look-over of the man's gear revealed a modified blaster rifle and some rather worn body armor. Atton brushed his fingers against his own blaster grip before leaning over to greet his bar stool neighbor.

"Don't let me fool you – this ale is _really bad_. But I figure if I'm drunk, I won't notice, right?"

The man grunted, seemingly not too amused.

"Ah, I got time to kill anyway. Nothing else to do. What about you? How come you're in here? There's plenty of nicer dives on Telos, you know."

The trace of a smile lifted the corner of the man's mouth. "Oh, I know," he said quietly.

"So?" Atton prodded. "Come on, enlighten me. I got time."

The man shook his graying head, taking a sip of his drink. He sighed heavily as he set the glass down again. "I'm here for the same reason you are. For the same reason all these poor gravel maggots are." He lifted his hand to nonchalantly include the whole cantina population. "Because we have to be. Because we have no choice."

Atton recoiled indignantly. "I have a choice."

The man snorted derisively. "Really? Then why aren't you in one of those nicer dives you mentioned?"

Atton blinked, then scowled and turned back to his ale. He drank half of it, then dug in his pocket for more credits and signaled for a third. "I've gotta stay close to the ship," he muttered.

"Oh? No other crew to stay behind?"

Atton squirmed on the stool. "They had… other business to attend to."

The stranger smiled knowingly. "Not your ship, huh?"

Atton growled, downing the last of his second round. "I'm just the pilot."

The man nodded. "I know the feeling."

"You fly too?"

The man shrugged, absently turning his glass in circles. "Not anymore."

"Why not?" The question left Atton's mouth before he thought better of it. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking?"

The man took another long drink, then sat back on his stool. "I just got tired of it," he said. "I saw too much up there… decided I could accomplish more down here."

Atton grunted with interest. "Really? I thought maybe you'd found yourself a girl, decided to settle down…. You know, the usual."

The stranger chuckled, then finished his drink and stared forlornly at the empty glass. "Oh, there was a girl," he said heavily. "There's always a girl."

Atton waited in anticipation for the story, but the man remained silent, still staring at his glass. "Well," Atton prodded at last. "What happened?"

The other man looked over to him. "She died," he said simply.

Atton drew back. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

The man waved Atton's apology away. "It's all right. I moved on, eventually. Still thought about her a lot, but found another girl…" His face contorted into an odd expression, and Atton leaned forward again in curiosity.

"So did you settle down with that one?"

The stranger barked laughter so suddenly that Atton startled. He tried to cover his surprise by drinking more ale, but that only made him grimace.

"No," the man said, recovering from his amusement and shaking his head. "No. I didn't settle down with that one. That one drug me all across the galaxy." His smile faded. "But… her future was already too full. There wasn't room enough for me. So, she left. And I stayed." He heaved a sigh and ordered another drink. "You want the moral of this story?" he asked rhetorically. "Don't get mixed up with those flaming Jedi. And most certainly don't let yourself fall in love with one."

Atton shifted again on his bar stool, picking up his ale. "I hear that," he said, but his voice was strangely hoarse. He drank down the rest of his third glass. _Nell isn't a Jedi. She was kicked out of the Order. And besides, I don't _love_ her, I just find her attractive to look at._ "So this second girl," he said aloud, "she was a Jedi?"

The man nodded silently.

"Do you know where she went?"

"No. She never told me specifically."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

The man grunted, tossing Atton a dubious glance. "You think I didn't try? I tried to talk her out of it completely, at first. But she insisted she had to do it. Never would tell me what or where, though. Just that she had to go. I vowed not to let her leave without me by her side, but the thing with Jedi is… it's hard to keep them from getting their way if they set their mind to something. One morning I woke up and she was gone."

Atton winced.

"Like she'd never even existed," the man continued. "She left no other explanation, no directions, no clues. She just vanished."

Atton ordered two more ales, passing one over to his new-found friend.

The man nodded in appreciation of the gesture, taking hold of the schooner's handle and looking at the ale as if it would give him answers. He frowned. "I always thought she'd come back some day. I didn't think her leaving would be permanent. I waited years for some news, some word. I even tried contacting the Jedi Council, but they claimed to know nothing about her latest trip. They could have been lying, I guess, but who knows… especially now that the Council doesn't even exist anymore." He contemplated the ale for a second longer, then took several large gulps.

Atton smiled as the other man shuddered. "Told you it was bad."

The stranger coughed, his face still twisted into an expression of disgust. "Son of schutta… that's awful."

Atton raised his glass in a silent toast, then took a drink. He found he was actually getting used to the taste. Either that or his tongue was going numb. _Probably the latter._ He turned back to the stranger. "You don't think she'll come back someday?"

The man shrugged again. "I don't know anymore. It used not to be so bad… I could still sort of… feel her, somehow. Some Force-trick, I guess. It was like she was still near me… only, not." He snorted, shaking his head. "Bah, I've had too much to drink… I'm talking like a fool."

Atton stared at the man, an eerie sensation making the hairs on his neck prickle. He recalled his own frantic scurry across the galaxy after leaving Darth Revan's service. He'd kept moving for months, hardly able to sleep, terrified of waking up to see the face of a fellow assassin looming over him. Even after the announcement of Revan's death, Atton had remained watchful. He had never believed her truly dead; how could he have while her existence in the Force still hummed against his own weak Force sensitivity? He had never been able to explain it, but ever since the day she'd pulled him from the wreckage of that transport on Dagary Minor, he had been able to _feel _her.

Her presence had become only more potent after her rise to power as Dark Lord of the Sith… he had been unable to resist it. That had been a large part of what drew him to her, why he had joined her cause, and why he had killed for her. And he had found it surprisingly difficult to leave her, when he finally decided to do so. Only recently had her Force-echo faded from his mind, but Atton wasn't as relieved by the silence as he once thought he would be. In fact, he found it strangely… lonesome.

"No, I know what you're saying," he said slowly. "I know exactly what you mean."

"Yah, well. Now that's gone, too. Now I don't know what's happening. I don't know if maybe something happened to her, or maybe it's been too long, or maybe it was never really there in the first place…." He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "All I do is think of her. All I do is wait for her." He lifted his glass morosely. "To you, kid. I hope you never fall this hard." He drank deeply, but Atton was still too lost in thought to properly reply.

The man had already set his glass back down by the time Atton roused himself enough to form words again. "Here's to remembering," he said, finally raising his glass in return.

The man chuckled. "You mean to _forgetting_."

Atton gave him a quizzical look.

"Remembering is tiresome. Longing for a past that's long over, yearning for a future that will never be… that's no way to live. If I could just forget her, I could move on. But after five years her memory is still as strong as ever. I'm beginning to think I'll never be free of it."

The face of Jedi Master Shria Dullomar flashed through Atton's mind. She had been the first to awaken the Force within him; her words and warning had been what ultimately drove him from Darth Revan's ranks. He still dreamt of the moment she had opened his mind to the call of the Force, of her screams as he had tortured her, of the emotions that had coursed so strongly through his veins as he finally ended her life. For seven years those memories had haunted his sleep, and he knew, somehow, that they always would.

"Here's to forgetting, all right," he muttered, and swallowed down his fourth ale.

"What was that?"

Atton startled, turning to face the other man. "Oh, nothing. Just… nothing."

"Sorry, kid. I probably shouldn't be telling you all this. I don't know why I am… I usually don't talk about myself like this. Especially not to complete strangers."

Atton opened his mouth to insist he was no longer a _complete_ stranger, but a familiar twinge against his senses made him turn on his stool. He felt his chest tighten as Nell Roe stepped through the cantina door. Her combat suit only amplified her physical attributes, and there was something about the way that lock of black hair fell across her face that got him every time. Her green eyes scanned the room briefly, then came to rest on him. He pushed his empty glass away as she approached, walking with the purposeful, no-nonsense stride that screamed Jedi.

The commotion around the bar stilled as she neared, but Atton's own pleasure at seeing her dampened as he noticed both Kreia and Bao-Dur enter after her. He met Kreia's filmy gaze; felt the cold touch of her Force probe on his mind, and quickly brought up the shielding he had learned so long ago. The old ex-Jedi could have breached it if she tried hard enough, but Atton had a good idea such an effort would have made it obvious she was getting into his head, and he didn't think she wanted Nell to know about that. At least, not yet. And he hoped not ever.

He brought his attention back to Nell as she stopped next to him and waved over the barman. "Mad Mrelf," she said.

Atton's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Strong liquors weren't usually her drink of choice. But she took the shot as soon as the barman released it and threw it back, then slammed the glass back to the countertop. Atton gawked at her bravery, watching her face intently for the reaction he knew must come, but her expression didn't even change.

She turned to him abruptly and he blinked, coming out of his stare.

"Business not go so well?" he asked.

"Twenty credits," the barman said uneasily, obviously also taken aback by the woman's lack of reaction to the potent beverage.

Nell absently lifted her hand.

"The drink was on the house, my lady," the barman amended, and he gave a low bow before moving off to serve other customers.

Atton watched the humanoid go, then turned to Nell in exasperation. "Now where were you a half hour ago when he wanted twelve credits for my ale?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

Atton shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He stood from the stool, then remembered his fellow drinker. He looked to the other man, who had watched the whole exchange with interest. "Oh, sorry." He gestured toward Nell. "This is Nell Roe, one of my traveling companions."

Atton swore he saw a flicker of recognition on the man's bearded face as he stood and extended his hand. "Jedi?" he asked.

Nell eyed him coolly for a second, then reached forward to accept his handshake. "Ex," she said.

"I see."

"Come on, we've got places to go," she said to Atton, and with that she turned her back on the stranger and went to join Kreia and Bao-Dur, who had waited by the entrance.

Atton turned to the man, frowning with a sudden realization. "Huh, I guess we never really introduced ourselves, did we? I'm Atton Rand, pilot of the _Ebon Hawk_."

The man froze in the middle of shaking Atton's hand, his grip on the pilot's fingers suddenly becoming painful.

"What did you say?"

An intuitive warning went off in Atton's head. "Uh… I'm Atton Rand…"

"No," the man said impatiently. "The ship – what was the name of the ship?"

Atton hesitated, tossing a glance to Nell, but she had her back toward him. He tried to free his hand from the stranger's vice-like grip. "Er… well, we call it the _Ebon Hawk_, but –"

"Where did you find it?" the man demanded at once.

Atton narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. Like I said, it's not my ship."

"Whose is it, then?"

"Look… sir," Atton said, finally yanking his hand away and shaking it out. "I appreciate your conversation, but I don't see how it's any of your business where –" He stopped, looking into the end of a blaster barrel, and cleared his throat. "Okay… if it's that important to you. As far as I know, that old woman in black over there claims ownership." He gave a slight nod in Kreia's direction.

There was a short, tense silence, and the area around the bar once again quieted as the nearby patrons took notice of the confrontation.

"Did I miss something?"

Nell's voice startled Atton; he looked over to see her standing next to him, flanked by Bao-Dur and Kreia herself, though only the Zabrak had drawn his weapon.

Atton nodded toward the man standing across from him. "I believe this gentleman would like to talk to Kreia," he said.

"The _Ebon Hawk_," the stranger blurted, foregoing introductions. "Where did you get it?"

Kreia stepped forward, the faint trace of a smile crossing her lips. "If that is what you wish to know," she said lazily, "I suggest we step outside. No need to attract any more unwanted attention."

The man seemed reluctant for a moment, but then nodded his consent. "Leave your weapons here, on the bar."

"Are you cracked?" Atton asked incredulously. "We might as well just hand them out as gifts!"

"Give me the information I want and I'll pay to replace them if they're stolen," the stranger promised.

"And what makes you think –"

"Just do it," Nell ordered, cutting Atton's protests short. She had already unholstered her blasters and now set them heavily upon the countertop. Kreia produced her lightsaber and set it next to the guns. Then the two former Jedi looked expectantly to the men.

Atton groaned, grudgingly removing his own blaster and two frag grenades from his belt.

Bao-Dur was even more reluctant. He looked from Nell to the man with the gun and back again. "General…"

She shot him a sharp look and he fell silent. At last the Zabrak gave up his blaster rifle, then unloaded several frag, shock, and plasma grenades into the growing pile. Once that was done, the stranger stepped to the side and waved to the cantina's back exit with his rifle.

"Everyone out the back door," he said. "Any funny business and you'll find yourselves less a pilot."

Atton rolled his eyes. _Why am I always the victim?_

"Good riddance," Kreia murmured so that only he could hear, and Atton shot her a venomous glare. He found himself hoping the bearded man would shoot her. He didn't care why.

The group gathered in the back alley, crammed in among the trash receptacles. Atton stood ready to deliver an offensive or defensive strike; he kept his eyes on both their armed assailant and Nell. If she gave him the signal, he'd do what he had to, regardless of the consequences. But at the moment she didn't seem worried. She stood with arms crossed and eyebrows raised impatiently. Kreia had assumed a bored expression. But Bao-Dur remained alert, his body tense and eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Atton found himself thankful for the Zabrak's wariness; the two former Jedi's confidence made him nervous. There would come a day when they met a foe their slowly-returning Force powers couldn't handle….

"Now," the man spoke up, addressing Kreia, "I will ask the question again. Where did you find your ship?"

"And who are you," Kreia countered, "that would have any interest in the answer to that question?"

Something in the tone of her voice made Atton think she already knew. He wondered why she always insisted on playing such games.

"I have some unresolved business," the man said curtly. "And it involves the _Ebon Hawk_."

Kreia stepped forward; the blaster rifle swung in her direction. "You didn't answer my question," she stated calmly.

"And you didn't answer mine," the man growled.

"Some unresolved business, you say?" Kreia purred, and Atton felt a ripple of foreboding in his gut. He'd heard her use that voice before. "Let's see… what sort of business would a man like you be involved in?"

The man suddenly flinched, then staggered backwards, blinking rapidly. "What… what in the…"

"Oh, how interesting," Kreia remarked blandly. "A Mandalorian."

The so-called Mandalorian somehow gathered his wits enough to bring up his weapon and aim it directly for Kreia's face. But before he could take the shot, she burrowed deeper into his mind. He cried out and dropped the blaster rifle, his hands going to hold his head.

Atton shifted uncomfortably, remembering his own experience with Kreia's mind-warping abilities. It had been incredibly disconcerting to have his thoughts and memories sorted through like nothing more than files on a datapad, to have no control whatsoever of his own consciousness. Atton didn't wish the incident on anyone, not even a Mandalorian.

He waited as long as he could, but when the man dropped to his knees, Atton could take no more. He moved forward, stepping between Kreia and her current victim. "Haven't you got what you wanted yet?" he demanded.

Kreia looked up at him, smiling coldly. "Of course."

"Then stop," Atton said, alarmed at her callousness. He looked pleadingly to Nell, knowing Kreia would never actually listen to him. To his relief, the exiled Jedi nodded in agreement.

"He's right, Kreia. That's enough."

The elder woman sighed, but relinquished her hold on the Mandalorian's mind. She turned her atrophied gaze to Atton. "Now I see why the two of you got along so well in the cantina. You're both fools."

She spun on her heel before Atton could defend himself, heading for the door that led back into the cantina. "Come," she beckoned the others, "he is no longer a threat to us." Nell and Bao-Dur followed her, but Atton hesitated, looking down to the extremely disoriented man lying on the alley floor.

"Please…" the man suddenly rasped, "don't… don't tell anyone…"

Atton frowned, looking up to Kreia, who had paused in the doorway at the sound of the man's voice. "What does he mean?" Atton asked, not sure if he had the right to know, but curious nonetheless.

Kreia sniffed, looking contemptuously down her nose. "_That_ is Mandalore, leader of what's left of the Mandalorians. But on rare occasions he travels without mask and armor to avoid recognition while carrying out tasks he wants no one to know about. But _I_ knew him. And you would too, if you knew his name."

Atton glanced back to the man, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Canderous Ordo," Kreia said.

Atton's eyebrows lifted in surprise. _Canderous Ordo? He traveled with Revan… he was there at the Battle of the Star Forge…_

"You two have more in common than you think," Kreia commented, and Atton's heart skipped a beat, afraid the old ex-Jedi was about to reveal the darker parts of his past. But she said nothing more out loud. Instead, she used the Force to send him her thoughts; a less invasive method than her mind control, but still unpleasant.

_He, too, loved Revan_, she sneered. _He, too, feels lost without her presence to guide him. His life is made of waiting now… of wondering… of questions. Just as yours is. What a pathetic pair you make…._

Atton shoved her from his mind with some difficulty, then realized abruptly that his other three companions had already entered the cantina, leaving him alone with Canderous Ordo. The pilot walked to the Mandalorian's side, knowing it would be some time before the other man regained full control of his motor abilities.

_He, too, loved Revan…._

Atton shook his head. Love wasn't the word to describe the way he'd felt toward Revan. He had admired her, respected her, feared her… even hated her. But love…? Still, he couldn't deny he missed her. Even with knowing all of the horrible things she'd done as Dark Lord of the Sith, he missed her. He wanted her back, now that she had chosen to embrace the light once again. He at least wanted to know where she had gone, and if there was a chance he'd ever see her again.

He looked down at Canderous, studying the other man, understanding the Mandalorian's story now on a whole new level. Canderous didn't know the answers to Revan's mystery, either. But he was still searching, still hoping.

The cantina's back door whirred open, and Atton looked over to see Nell standing with her hands on her hips.

"Rand, what in the hell are you doing? We're waiting on you."

"Er, I was just… oh, never mind."

"Well, come on then. I don't want to still be here when he recovers the ability to shoot people."

Atton sighed, then moved slowly for the doorway. He turned at the threshold and looked back one more time, but then Nell shut the door. "I wouldn't worry about him," she said. "He's a Mandalorian, he can take care of himself."

Atton trailed after her as they made their way toward the front entrance. "Yah," he muttered. "I just wish he could have gotten some answers."

_I just wish _I_ could have gotten some answers…._

"Everyone wants answers, Atton," Nell sighed, handing him back his blaster and grenade. "The sad thing is, I think most of us are doomed to never get them."

Atton put the weapons back on his belt, watching her silently as they exited the cantina and rejoined Kreia and Bao-Dur. He had a habit of forgetting Nell's past of turmoil – or at least, what he knew of it. He supposed a few of her memories were no more pleasant to recall than some of his own. And he supposed she had her own big questions that needed to be answered.

He straightened his shoulders as they proceeded toward the docks and the _Ebon Hawk_. Maybe he and Canderous couldn't have the answers they sought, but Atton was bound and determined to help Nell find hers, no matter what it took.

* * *

THE END.

* * *


End file.
